


EriKar Ficlet Collection

by Lizardlicks



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, Blow Jobs, Bulges and Nooks, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eggpreg, Ficlet Collection, First Kiss, Fluff, Illustrated, M/M, Oviposition, Wedding Planning, Xeno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardlicks/pseuds/Lizardlicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.  Short stories for prompts from my tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Closing Distance

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains several mostly unrelated prompt ficlets for the Eridan/Karkat pairing. Most of these have already been published to my tumblr for sometime, and have been dusted off, cleaned, and polished to be added to this collection. I am not currently taking new prompts, however I still have some old ones hanging around that I intend to fill, so this will update with new ficlets occasionally, albeit infrequently. Until then, enjoy some good oldies.

_Prompt: Eridan and Karkat laying out under the stars on a blanket cuddling and giving kisses!!!_

* * *

The wind kicks up, sending silver ripples through the grass, bowing blades to tickle your cheek where you lie.  Karkat shivers.  He tries to pretend he’s just wiggling to get comfortable, but he’s on your arm and you can feel the little tremors of chill.

“You sure you don’t want to go inside?  I could- ”

“Fuck you, no,” he cuts you off with a snarl.  Rude.  You’re just trying to be courteous here.  He pokes you in the chest, probably a little harder than necessary.  You definitely do not flinch.  

“You said you wanted to ‘do the romance thing proper,’ and stargazing is romantic as fuck, but I have yet to feel wooed.  Step your game up, Ampora.”

You hum and scuff your boot in the grass at the end of your blanket while trying to think.  Fine.  He wants wooing, and you are going to deliver, damn it all!  An idea occurs to you that just might be cheesy enough to work.  You have to fight to keep a smirk from twisting your mouth.  He notices anyway and scowls.

“What?”

“Oh, nothin’,” you feign casual innocence.  By the look on his face he doesn’t buy it, but you forge ahead anyway, despite the nervous flutterbugs that have suddenly taken up residence in your belly.  “I was… was just thinkin’ that if you were gonna refuse reason, I’ll have to warm you up with my body heat.”

He stifles a snort.  Badly.  

“That might work if you weren’t made of ice cubes and fish guts,” he teases, but doesn’t resist when you pull him closer.  His hands go to your chest, thumbs kneading circles in the fabric of your shirt.  You can feel the warmth of his palms and the heat jumps to your cheeks and fins.  

“Hang on, this might help.”  You hook your discarded cape with the toe of your boot, tug it into grabbing range, then bring it over you both.

“Better?” you ask, voice hushed.  With your cape wrapped around you, it’s like a shield from the rest of the world.  This close to him you feel muted, as if speaking too loud might break the tenuous magic of a newly woven spell.

“Better,” he agrees, just as soft.  He’s been staring at his hands, eyes downcast.  You’d almost say it was shyness, but this is Karkat and he doesn’t do anything that isn’t brazen, commanding.  It’s one of things you’ve fallen so stupid hard for, the way he takes nothing life deems to throw at him without kicking, and screaming, and cussing it out.  But this, the quiet, almost contemplative stillness, you think you’re treasuring even more for how rare and precious it is.

When he looks up at you, you catch a glimpse of his true color threading through the gray of his irises; scarlet, and damning, and beautiful.  It catches you, and holds you helpless.  You close the tiny gap between you before you’ve even realized it.  He lifts his face to take the kiss anyway.  

You both shiver, this time for reasons that have nothing to do with the wind, and for a while forget the cold and distant stars glittering above.


	2. Speaking Roles

_Prompt: Due to shenanigans, Eridan and Karkat meet Signless, and Karkat gets jealous over Eridan's historical fanboying._

* * *

This could possibly count as the most unusual audience you have ever Spoken to.  Certainly not the largest.  Not the smallest either, you reflect; when you were still young enough to be both full of passionate ideals, yet defensively wary of other trolls, you used to practice making addresses using the shiny bottom of Mother’s favorite, silver bowl as a mirror.  Really can’t get much smaller than a crowd of yourself.  Still, two is… well kind of pathetic if you’re honest.  Seems no one has time to listen to relics of antiquity minister while they try to scrape out a new world.

Okay, perhaps two is a favorable oversimplification at best.  Your young descendent has clearly checked out of the conversation as he picks petals off the wildflowers surrounding you like they personally offended him.  His seadweller friend, on the other hand, is all rapt attention, fins pricked all the way forward like he’s channeling nourishment out of very sound of your voice.

“…so, in conclusion, the rigid adherence to the ideals of the hemospectrum end up being more harmful over all to the population, not just low bloods.  Have… I been able to enlighten on this matter to your satisfaction?”  You carefully fold your hands in your lap as you open the conversation to the younger troll for any questions or input he may have.  He’s been nodding along like one of those novelty wiggler toys with the over sized heads on springs, usually sculpted in the likeness of some popular media icon.  A couple of times you’ve wondered if it was possible to get a repetitive motion injury from too much nodding, and if he was in danger of it.

“No, yeah, I get it,” he finally pipes in.  “What you’re sayin’ is like, by keepin’ us dartin’ around like a bunch a frightened fishes tryin’ to get what’s what, we ain’t lookin’ at the whole map.  Only our own little battlefield.”  Well, you’re pleased that he’s been picking this up quick enough.  You smile, and he beams back, delighted and a little smug.

“Yeah, not like I’ve said the exact same thing,” Karkat grumbles into the denuded center of his current foliage victim.  He picks the last petal, and rolls it over his thumb and index finger, crushing it, and releasing the fragrant oils.  He’s going to smell like potpourri for the rest of the day.

“Well, it just clicked this time,” Eridan defends with a haughty little sniff.  

Karkat huffs a, “whatever,” and stands, brushing stamens, petals, and stems from his lap.  “Come on, enough sitting around slapping squawk flaps together.  We got shit to do.”  

Shit, you hope you didn’t keep them from something important.  It's only that everyone always seemed so busy lately, and having some time to Speak again felt nice.  “Oh, I didn’t mean to detain you all evening!  Please, by all means.” You wave them off, but as Karkat stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks at Eridan expectantly, the fish troll hugs his knees, and keeps his glutes planted exactly where he’s been sitting the last hour.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna hang out with Signless for a little bit.”  

It takes a moment for your descendent to respond but you see the quick darting look he gives you, the way his shoulders hunch, reflexive, defensive.  Aw fuck, you have most unerringly stuck your foot in something, and it’s something that makes him hurt, and— oh gods below you’re a complete moron.

“You know what, fine.  Spend the night with your new great buddy Vantas the Original.  The fuck should I care.”  It comes spilling out of his mouth in a rush as he turns and starts walking stiffly away.  Eridan has flattened his fins, and lowered his horns, but you don’t miss the way he avoids looking directly at either of you, only hugs himself in a tighter ball.  Suddenly you are two places, now and a time far and away, seeing the exact same looks on very dear faces.  It makes your heart ache with echoes of guilt and joy each.

“He’s just a loud mouth blowin’ off steam,” Eridan tells you quietly, candid, like he thinks your feelings need to be spared.  Oh precious children, they don’t even know.  You can’t help but chuckle.

“Eridan,” you say to him softly, and he peeks at you from over one knee sulkily.  “If there is one thing I’ve learned in my upsettingly short life, it’s that you need to listen before you speak.”  Now he gawks at you, like you’ve given him one of the secrets of the universe.  Good.  He needs to know what a great, fragile, wonderful thing he’s on the edge of.  “Go.  Follow.  Listen.”

He’s up and away in a flash, chasing after Karkat.  You watch, still as you can, melting into the background of life.  When they stop a ways off, it’s too far to hear except the occasional burst of volume, but you sigh out all the tension that had been cinching up your chest when they bow heads together to gently meet horns.  Eridan reaches for Karkat’s hand and he lets him take it.  

You smile, and make a note for later to speak with them on the matter of needless quadrant restrictions.


	3. Have You Cake and Eat It Too

_Prompt:  "In which you fall in love with a cake"._

* * *

 

“Kar!”  Eridan has stopped walking and you, by stint of him being attached to your arm, are forced to also stop walking.  “Kar, look!”

“At wha- fuck, Eridan!  Heel or something, dammit!”  Now he’s dragging you backwards, charging across the street like a fucking single-horned earth grumpbeast.  At least he was mindful enough to use the crosswalk.  A taxi driver glares at you over his steering wheel, and you opt for the customary human city greeting of flipping him off.

“Look, right here, it’s perfect!”  Your attention snaps back to your crazy matesprit as he bounces on his toes and jostles your arm.  

“Yup, that sure is a great expression of pigeon crap art, very interesting texture and pattern.”  You’re being a mulish dick on purpose, but your limb demands justice for this abuse.  Justice is swift and obstinate.

“Not the fuckin’ sidewalk, _Kar_ , the window,” he sighs in the most dramatic, put upon manner he can muster in spite of his grin.  You look.  You groan, because you notice exactly what drew him over now, there’s no way you can’t.  It’s taking up half the window display.

The multi-tiered cake could have been elegant at one time, before Alfons the Rogue Baked-goods Decorazer had a go at it.  Now, two-thirds is covered in mounds of shapely buttercream ribbon, shells, stars and flowers.  The little paper plaque announces in curly, italic typeface that the flakes of gold are, in fact, actual, edible gold because _of fucking course they are_.  Same goes for the gold piped scroll work.  Your eyes fall on the price tag last, and you feel a little light headed.

“Eridan, no.  That’s not a cake, that’s a monstrosity.”

“It’s a statement,” he corrects you earnestly.

“Yeah, it says ‘we have more money than brains,’ which I guess is true for at least one of us.”

“Kar, we’re doin’ this quadrant formalization thing partly human style for a reason, right?  Gonna party with all our pink monkey friends, and rub the snobby traditionalists’ noses in it.”

You nudge him in the ribs (careful of the gills, you aren’t that much of an jerk) and tease, “didn’t you used to be one of those snobby traditionalists?”  He has the sense enough to look at least a little embarrassed about it, fluttering his fins.

“All the more reason to rub it in with an extra-big, extra-fancy to-do.”  He squeezes your arm, and when you look up at his face he has this soft, goofy expression that makes your bloodpusher squeeze too.  “ Besides, I wanna show off how much you mean to me a little.”

Well fuck.  That does it.  You’re officially wibbling.  You reach for his hand with your free one, clutch his fingers tightly, and tuck your head against his shoulder.  You try to disguise the attempt at hiding your creeping blush by turning it into a head butt, and he curls his hand into yours, and leans over to nuzzle your hair.  That just makes it worse.  Your face could probably pass for one of the building’s bricks if it wasn’t mushed into his shirt right now.

“Fine, let’s go talk to some assholes about an asshole cake.”


	4. Suck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from SybLaTortue's collab!porn challenge. This time my fic was the prompt, and Syb provided some absolutely gorgeous art in response, which they have given permission for me to repost here. Please go check out the original (along with the rest of Syb's lovely art, including their Piratestuck AU) at their tumblr http://syblatortue.tumblr.com/

Sometimes you think you are a pretty terrible highblood. You shouldn’t love this as much as you do. If any other seadweller could see you like this- on your knees, letting a mutant use your mouth as his personal pail- they would be appalled, but for him you don’t care. When he looks at you like this, mouth parted just enough for his tongue to dart out and lick his lips, eyes heavy lidded, bright with red burning behind thick lashes, unnatural and perfect, it thrills you. You feel possessed, owned. Loved. You would do anything to give that back, to show him just a fraction of what he makes you feel.

“God, you’re so gorgeous,” he murmurs sweet praises as he traces tender hot finger tips over your fins. “Do you have any idea how good you look with your lips around a bulge?”

You, of course, have no words to offer him just at the moment. Instead, you swirl your tongue, dance around the questing tip of his bulge, before swallowing him down to the root. You drink him like life, fill yourself with everything he offers until his wall of words are senseless syllables, and his finger tremble against your skin.


	5. Sequence Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a few requests that fit quite well with each other as part of a series. So this is the first part of the first series. A little bit of Erikar ovi for your day.

_Prompt: Karkat doesn't know that because of his mutation his bone bulge is actually an ovipositor. He realizes this while fucking Eridan._

_Prompt: Could I request enthusiastically into it breeder/oviposition Erikar?_

* * *

 

There is something wrong.  This is the dim but constant chant in the back of your pan as Eridan gasps and shifts above you.  There is something wrong with you, this isn’t normal pailing, you aren’t releasing slurry, it’s something else.  But it feels so good.  The alarms bursting and pinging through your skull are all muffled by the fact that this feels right.  It feels good.  Eridan feels good.  You can see it in his face, the way his mouth parts open around breathless murmurings, ‘ _yes ooooh god yes, more_ ,’ the way he lifts his hips only to slide his nook back down the considerable thickness of your bulge, taking more in as he becomes stretched.

He’s nearly down to your sheath, and the way your bulge stuffs him is obscene.  It’s delicious.  You pet his thighs and chirp sweet little encouragements.  You can feel as his seed flap releases, opens up to you, surrenders.  It feels so right.  It feels like victory.  That’s the last little bit you need to take him all the way.  As his weight settles on your pelvis his mouth closes over yours, a hungry, sealing kiss that fires all the right neurons off in a cascading succession.  He’s claiming you.  You’re his, he’s yours, this is right.  You groan into his mouth, slide your hands to the firm seat of his ass and squeeze, then pin him to you as you roll your hips.   

The noise he makes at that feels like victory too.  You do it again, revel in the flutter of his nook as your bugle flicks with the movement.  He should be in you too.  You should both be full and filled with each other, but your guts already feel so tight.  Your slurry sack has been so heavy for the past couple of weeks it was bordering on painful, and he doesn’t seem to mind or care that his bulge is curling naked and neglected between you.  This isn’t normal pailing, but what does it matter if you both like it this way? 

That heaviness feels lower now.  It’s shifting as your slurry sack contracts, makes ready to deliver its cargo to your partner (your matesprit, _yours_ ).   This isn’t supposed to hurt either, but there is something that flirts with pain within you.  It’s urgent, and growing more insistent with every thrust, growl, and gasp,  every animal sound that that escapes both your lips.  You whine.  Eridan groans a long curse, “ _fuuuh -uck, cod, Kar_ ,” and his nook spasms around you, milking your bulge encouragingly. 

For a moment the pain peaks, sharp, burning--  your head thumps back into the padding as your back bows, and your whine becomes a howl-- but this feels good too, that’s the fucked up part.  It feels amazing, and then something gives and oh, oh, _oh_ it’s nothing but relief of pressure, and that pleasure no longer with the pain to counterbalance it.  You plunge into it, lost, and blind, and drowning. 

When you finally surface far enough to process external stimuli again, you find Eridan clinging to you so hard his fingers are leaving bruises.  He’s pressed his face against your neck and he’s heaving in great, shaky gasps, and you wonder what the fuck just happened. 

“Eridan.”  You’ve got one arm looped around his back, holding him, but not trapping him.  The other you use to reach up and card your fingers through the hair between his horns.  “You okay?” 

“Holy fuck yes.  What was that?” 

“I... really don’t know,” you confess.  He nuzzles into the corner of your jaw, right below your ear, then nips.  It’s gentle, and he doesn’t draw blood, but it still makes you jump. 

“Can you do it again?” he growls it against your skin.  He’s still trembling, but not like he’s afraid.  His weight is pressing on your belly, and hips, and the need may be less, but you’re still too full.  You try a shallow, experimental thrust, and delight in the way that makes him twitch, and sends a feedback of liquid pleasure coiling up through your center.   

“Yeah.” 

“God, yes,” he hisses triumphantly (you shiver) and pushes himself up onto his elbows again. 

“Let me... I want to try something,” you tell him and he nods, eager, hungry.  He wants you, and your strangeness, your wrongness.  You feel so loved and safe right now, you could do anything.  Everything.  You push his shoulders until he sits up properly (oooh that grind is so nice), then try to do the same yourself.  Your guts pull and shift with the change in your center of gravity and yup, there it is, that mounting pressure is back again.  You get Eridan to lay back against the pailing platform so you can get your hands under his ass and position him just right to rut in earnest. 

You can watch it happen this time.  It doesn’t hurt so much now, but it’s still that same build of pressure until something tips and surges inside of you, through you, out of you.  You can see Eridan’s nook fatten out with it ( _how_ ) then clench, and he fucking _ripples_ around you hard enough to make you choke.  

“Aaaahn yes, _Karkat_!” Eridan cries out, and you echo the sentiment.  You’re going to fill him.  Make him slosh with your slurry (not slurry- who cares).  There’s already a bump in his belly.  On you it’s nearly invisible, but while he’s built highblood sturdy, and taller than you, he’s longer and leaner too.  You find your hand drawn to touch it, and he trills at you.  His hand covers yours and presses so you can feel the firm shape there.  “S’like bein' full a stars,” he tells you.  You don’t know why it makes sense. 

You’ll fill him with galaxies, vast unending tumbles of possibility, all made of you, and him and your love and pity.  It’s right.  It’s good.

 


	6. Sequence Part 2

_Prompt: Oviposition, mutant eggs are huge and Eridan is stuck on the couch. Cue complaining and demands for various services_

* * *

 

If you were a time player right about now, you would be very tempted to make a few... adjustments to the course of events that led to this particular predicament.

Item one: go back and slap yourself for saying, “Kar, if the humans can shit out squishy pink monstrosities on a regular basis, it can’t be _that_ hard.”  For all that humans are squishy and pink, and their young are of a similar nature, it is, in fact, kinda fucking hard.  Not that you aren’t currently mastering the whole brooding your own spawn thing- because you are!  You’re totally kicking its ass!- it’s just a might more of a chore than you’d initially estimated. 

Item two: preemptively formulate an exit strategy for the couch that doesn’t involve you lying down and log rolling off like some kind a gross ass worm thing.  It’s embarrassing is what it is. 

Item three: fortify provisions so that once you have made it into a reclined position the need for couch navigational maneuvers is greatly diminished in general. 

Actually, you might still see if you can bribe one of the time players to do that first one when this is all over, because fuck your hubris is why.  Your back hurts, your hips hurt, you bloody _feet_ hurt and they’re so swollen all you can fit into right now is your dumb (totally cute) novelty shark slippers.  You are ravenous in spite of the bubbly churning in your belly you know will be heartburn later, and the eggs form a solid, uncomfortable lump that takes up all the space your organs used to occupy.  

But worst of all is the fact that this the most comfortable you have been in three weeks.  You have against all odds somehow managed to achieve perfect reclining optimization by haphazardly collapsing onto this couch.  To disturb it now is to forfeit it for likely the rest of this incubation process, however long that is.  You groan.

“Kaaaaaaaar...”  You are the master at wheedling.  It is you. 

You hear a muffled, “hang on, I’m coming!” from the other room, followed by a thump and some swearing, and then Karkat appears around the corner.  He’s got his sleeves pushed up, and paint in his hair, and there’s a drop of it smeared across the bridge of his nose and left cheek all mint green charm.  Good lord he is heart-meltingly adorable, and you want to pull him down and kiss him.  “Are you okay?  What’s wrong?” 

“I’m fine, Kar,” you laugh.  You shouldn’t laugh, but his scrunched, serious face combined with the painting disaster is too much.  “I was just wonderin’ if you could get me somethin’ to drink.” 

“Oh.  Yeah, sure.”   

He starts to amble over to the kitchen, when you add, “Maybe somethin’ to eat, too?” 

“That could be arranged.  What do you want?”

“Shrimp and garlic sauce with fried rice,” pops out of your mouth, followed up by, “Oooh and spring rolls.  And sushi!” 

Karkat switches to his ‘what the fresh hell did I do to anger the gods’ face which is nearly as hilarious with the paint smudges as his ‘this is serious business’ face.  “Are you serious?” 

“The grubs are.”  You affectionately pat the big egg bump that’s become your whole midsection and smile at him.  

“How are they this much trouble when they haven’t even been born yet.” 

You level a look at him across the room.  “They’re made up a our combined DNA, do you really gotta wonder that hard?” 

He sighs and disappears into the kitchen, then reappears with a big glass of ice water in one hand and his phone in the other.  You didn’t even ask for ice, but he remembered, your perfect matesprit. 

“Thanks love,” you say as he hands you the glass, then, “Can you get me a pillow so I can put my feet up too?”  He doesn’t even question it, simply fetches a throw pillow from the lounge chair and positions it on the coffee table while he waits for the take out place to answer. 

“Hey, Bob, it’s Karkat,” he says to the phone.  “Yeah, the usual.  No, I have no idea where he puts it all-” you snort- “tell the kid there’s an extra tip in it if he can get it here in forty.  Yeah, thanks.”  He ends the call, chuckling.  You know your matesprit, and you know he’s going to give the delivery kid an extra tip regardless because he’s a huge softy like that.   

“Okay, your highness, anything else you need while I’m here?”  He’s smiling at you all soft and happy like, and something warm wakes up to fill your chest overflowing. 

“Yeah.”  You reach up and snag the collar of his shirt, then pull him squawking in surprise down across your chest and hug him.  “Stay here an’ cuddle with me.” 

“Eridan,” his tone shoots for warning but lands in amused, so you know you aren’t in trouble.  “The nursery-” 

“Ain’t gonna grow legs an’ walk away, Kar.  Stay here an’ eat with me.”   

He does.  Karkat gets himself arranged so that he’s snuggled up against your side, and you proceed to have one of the nicest cuddle sessions in the history of flushed cuddle sessions.  You don’t think you could be a more sated lump of purr if you tried. 

Fortunately, you don’t have to try, because after the food is delivered and devoured, Karkat rubs your feet until you could cry from happiness.  Maybe you’ll hold off on hiring a time player, because this was the best idea ever.

 


End file.
